“It doesn’t matter much,” growled the detective. “We will nab him all the same, if he had fifty names.”
“Possibly. But it is wonderful how a man may be under your very nose, and yet you may miss him.”
During the next few minutes neither man spoke. Bruce smiled cynically at the thought that he was actually shielding Lady Alice’s probable slayer from the minions of the law. He marvelled at himself for his irresolution. Nevertheless, he would wait. Mensmore could not escape him now. Perhaps the business might be managed without the dramatic features which would accompany an immediate arrest. And there were some things that required explanation. If his Monte Carlo acquaintance really killed Lady Dyke, then he was the strangest criminal whom Bruce had ever encountered during the course of his varied career.
The policeman misinterpreted his expression.
“You can’t laugh at us this time, Mr. Bruce,” he cried. “Scotland Yard and yourself evolved the same theory, eh? And we can’t fly off to the South of France as readily as you.”
“Your skill is profound, no doubt. Indeed, I wonder at it, considering the mysterious way in which the missing man left his address at the post-office.”
The other reddened. “That was simple enough, I know; but we were on his track before that.”
“By watching me when I visited his sister.”
“You saw me outside the Jollity Theatre, then?”
“Of course. What did you expect?”